Sparks and Lightening
by Accidental-Ducky
Summary: "You know, normal people call before dropping by," Peter tells them, arching his brows. -"You're dating Stiles," Ally says in response, as though that gives her every right to break a perfectly good window and climb inside using the fire escape.
1. How Love Goes

Peter has seen the young warlock around the bookstore a few times before, usually browsing through the fantasy section while a Shadowhunter lurked nearby. He was handsome as far as warlocks go, little horns curling up from his forehead that only those with the Sight were able to see, and even then they were nearly obscured by his carefully styled brown hair.

The Shadowhunter with him wasn't nearly so interesting, just a girl with distrusting eyes and the thick lines of Runes dotted here and there when clothing wasn't obscuring them. The only interesting thing about her was the scent of an Alpha that clung to her, and there weren't very many of _those_ in California as a whole. In fact, there were only two and something told Peter that she wasn't hanging around Deucalion.

Either way, Peter did his best to put the teenager out of his mind as he went back to the novel propped up on his knee. He had more pressing issues to worry about, like the fact that the Seelie Queen—bitch that she is—is demanding an audience with the leaders of certain groups of Downworlders. Peter would decline if he didn't value his health and good looks so much.

Still, he finds himself tracking the boy's movements from section to section until he reached the counter to pay for his finds. His jeans were tight in just the right way and Peter only felt a small flush of guilt as he eyed the boy's round, perky ass. Of course, that's the moment the boy decides to glance over his shoulder and meets Peter's gaze head on.

And the warlock winks.

* * *

The next time he sees the warlock is as he's leaving the Beacon Hills entrance to the Seelie Court, a small cove near the beach that Mundanes saw as a rundown hut. The boy was dressed to the nines in a shiny blue suit, hair stylishly messy and revealing those beautiful horns that glittered blue and green like a mermaid's scales under the moonlight.

"Is your master sending you here in their place," he teases, hands in the pockets of his own suit of charcoal gray. Black just didn't look good on Peter, it made his aura something straight out of a Disney movie, and not in a favorable light either. "A chance for you to learn how the Seelie Queen is when she's not happy?"

"Not quite," the boy answers in a voice like honey. "I haven't had a master since I was a kid." Peter arches a brow, not subtle as his gaze moves from the boy's horns to the ratty Converse he wore on his feet. "I'm six hundred years old. I know, it's a shock to everyone that doesn't already know."

"A nice one, at least." And the boy grins at him, cheeky and wonderful and Peter could _live_ for that flash of white teeth. "I'm Peter." He holds out a hand and the boy reaches out to shake it, a spark of something shooting through the wolf on contact and a static shock seems to rip through his chest as his eyes flash Alpha red. The boy's eyes flash in return, fire bright before fading to their usual amber in sunlight.

"Stiles."

* * *

Battles were hard things no matter your species, though why he was called to _New York_ of all places could only be explained by the text his nephew had sent just twelve hours before. Sometimes it really sucked to like one's family and their continued existence. And to make matters that much worse, the fight was on a goddamn _boat_ and he was surrounded by all kinds of Shadowhunters.

The one good thing to come out of it was seeing Stiles in all his glory fighting alongside his Shadowhunter buddy. He was a force to behold, flinging spells every which way when he's able or even just a bat with Runes burned into the wood to enhance its strength as he flings it left and right against the oncoming demons. The Shadowhunter wasn't awful, he supposes, but he's never been a fan of the Clave and all their rules.

After it was done and Derek's reason for dragging him all the way here was rescued—a relatively young werewolf that had been meant to be sacrificed—Peter was intending to just go back to Derek's apartment and sleep for seven hours and then go find Luke and have a drink. Things didn't end up going that way, however, because Stiles was bleeding and his pet Shadowhunter looked ready to play a game of Murder Time with whatever had caused the deep scratch along the warlock's cheek.

"I take it warlocks don't have the best healing factor," Peter snarks, sidling up to the pair with a smirk. The Shadowhunter went to step between the pair, but aborted the motion when Stiles touches her wrist.

"It's alright, Ally. I know him."

"So does everyone in the Institute," Ally remarks, sending Peter a frown that more than hinted at _I saw you at the Christmas party three years ago, you nasty fucker_. And really, how was he supposed to know the punch had been spiked and that he'd end up banging a shifter named Peg in the women's bathroom?

"Oh, that was you, huh? Very impressive, man."

"I rather thought so," Peter agrees, trying his best to ignore Ally. It wasn't hard, not with the way the dawn light highlighted the small moles scattered over the left side of Stiles' face in a way that made Peter want to follow that trail with his teeth.

"Peter," yelled the familiar voice of Magnus Bane," stop creeping on my protégé!"

* * *

So, it turns out that pale warlocks with amber eyes and magic bats are Peter's type.

Who knew?

* * *

Stiles likes to smoke. It's not really a big deal for Peter because Stiles' just uses his magic to make the smoke scentless. Whenever Peter finds Stiles' in the little park down the street from the school, the warlock is usually swinging slowly and blowing smoke rings. When he wants to show off, he'll turn the billows of smoke into little ships or paw prints or, once, a triskelion.

Peter asked him why he smoked once, after he learned that Stiles had changed the cigarette's taste to strawberries. "Because I like watching the smoke curl and dance," he'd answered, doing just that as he turned the smoke shades of blue and bright red.

Sometimes he'd find Stiles just wandering through the town as though he was searching for something, smoke floating over his shoulder and grief in his scent. Peter never bothered him on those nights, just watched to make sure no one tried to sneak up on him while he was lost in his thoughts.

One night, the second one Stiles had ever spent with him, the warlock woke him up with a bitten off curse and it took Peter a moment to realize that the wriggling boy next to him was still deep in sleep. He writhed and twisted as though trying to escape, Polish rolling off his tongue as easy as English, calling and begging for his father to be saved.

When Peter had finally managed to get Stiles awake and convince him that he was safe, Stiles told him about the mother that had abandoned him after she realized her child wasn't human; he told him about the father that fought and protected him through thick and thin until the man's heart had given out. Then, in the early hours of the morning, he told Peter how his father had always smoked a pipe at night, how he'd blown smoke rings to Stiles' delight and would always grin so proudly when Stiles managed to turn those rings into flowers.

After that, Peter never asked about Stiles' obsession with smoking.

* * *

Their one year anniversary sneaks up on both of them and they only realize how momentous the day is when Stiles checks his Facebook and the memory of their first date pops up in his feed. Their first date had been the thing of legends, the one you tell future generations about because it had been perfection; a high end restaurant that needed reservations three years in advance unless you threatened to eat the owner's pet rabbit (Peter wasn't proud of that, but he'd stand by his choices), a walk along the beach to a blanket with chilled champagne and strawberries waiting on them, and the sweetest kiss goodnight to finish it off (followed by mind-blowing sex, but he'd save that until his kids were old enough to really embarrass).

Their first anniversary was just as perfect in a different sort of way; Pizza Hut delivery that they got free because Stiles glamoured their apartment so that the pizza was exactly thirty-one minutes late, a Parks and Rec marathon on TV that they could quote word for word (and they did, they even made a game out of it that was bound to become tradition), and a garlic-laced goodnight kiss that had Peter laughing because he'd never pictured this being how he and Stiles spent their anniversary during the first few months of them dating (followed by sex on the couch because they were too full to actually make it to bed).

After that, Peter swore that their second anniversary would be different and they'd at least have something fancier for dessert than a shared pint of Ben and Jerry's. Stiles had laughed, baring the pale column of his throat, and he'd curled tighter around Peter as they attempted not to slide off the couch.

"This was perfect," he said, flashing Peter that grin he loved so much.

And Peter really thought it was.

* * *

Turns out dating the best friend of a Shadowhunter has more drawbacks than Peter had originally thought. There were two of them in his apartment when he got home from his shift at the bookshop, just dirtying up his couch like they had any right to it and it took all his years of training not to at least growl at them in warning. Instead, he sets the new stack of books down on his kitchen table and turns to face his intruders.

"You know, normal people call before dropping by," he tells them, arching his brows.

"You're dating Stiles," Ally says in response, as though that gives her every right to break a perfectly good window and climb inside using the fire escape.

"Is this the part where you tell me that you'll kill me if I break his heart? Before you do that, you could at least introduce your friend." The other Shadowhunter, a man around Peter's age with hard blue eyes and blond hair that was slowly graying, looks unimpressed with Peter altogether. _If he didn't want to see me, then he shouldn't have broken into my apartment_.

"My name is Chris Argent," the man says, all condescension and arrogance that Shadowhunters are well known for. The Argents were fairly high up in the ranks, the Inquisitor's lap dogs from what Peter had heard. Still, they weren't as prominent as the Lightwoods or the Waylands. "And I'm fairly confident that Stiles could dispose of your body with barely a flick of his pinky if he wanted to."

"That's lovely. Now, if you'd see yourselves out I'd be forever grateful." He gestures at the broken window, already making plans to send that particular bill to the Institute or wherever these two were holed up.

"We're just here as a reminder that Stiles won't have to kill you himself, Hale."

"Since when are Shadowhunters so concerned about warlocks? Is it some new fad or just something that happens when you hang around Magnus Bane for long periods of time?" Which reminds Peter that he needs to send Bane a fruit basket for not threatening him this way.

"Just remember that you're outnumbered here," Ally states, and the glint in her eyes tells him that she's already thought up seven different ways to kill him slow should Stiles even sneeze wrong.

* * *

Magnus Bane wasn't getting a fruit basket, but he might get a foot up his ass for breaking Peter's window again when he could have just used a portal for God's sake.

* * *

It's three years later when Peter's stumbling around the famed city of Alicante that he realizes just how much he loves Stiles. Dead bodies are littered all over the ground from the what would come to be known as the Dark War, there's blood basically painting Stiles when he comes around the corner, but neither of those things stop Peter from grabbing the boy and just holding him.

He buries his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, breathing in the heady scent of _home_ and _pack_ and _mate_. And Stiles was doing much the same thing, shaking as he tangles his fingers in the back of Peter's ruined coat, clinging to him like some kind of shell-shocked koala as he worked through the panic attack.

Peter never wanted to let Stiles go again, barely managed to free an arm to wrap around his nephew and pull him close. This was his pack, his _goddamn family_ , and the Fair Folk had nearly torn that away from him in one harsh sweep against the Nephilim stronghold. He'd nearly lost control of himself during the fight and the only thing that kept him anchored was that constant pulse under his ribs that said Stiles was still alive, Derek was still fighting tooth and claw.

He would kill the next person that thought they could destroy his pack, he would tear their heart out and feed it to his mate like a delicacy, paired with the finest wine he could get his hands on. Looking at the other two confirmed they felt much the same way, Stiles' eyes flecked with gold and Derek's blazing a bright electric blue.

 _No one_ would ever threaten them again.

* * *

Seven years later, Peter didn't think Stiles was actually capable of shocking him anymore. Not after he'd learned about the warlock's banishment from Peru (something about psychotic monkeys and trying to one-up Bane), or the fact that Stiles could change into a fox if he felt like it, or even that his father's side of the family were made up of Shadowhunters that had ended up forming the Argent line (which, yeah, that connection cleared a lot of things up).

So, when he'd come home for lunch that day and found Stiles sitting on their kitchen table wearing only a silk tie and matching boxers with a velvet box balanced in the palm of one hand, Peter realized that there were still plenty of ways Stiles could still shock him. "So," Stiles said, swinging his feet back and forth through the air," you wanna tie the knot or not, old man?"

"I guess we should since the neighbors are starting to gossip," Peter replies, and he takes a special interest in getting Stiles out of those purple boxers. He never did make it back to the shop that afternoon.

Now, was that the most romantic way to propose to a person? Probably not. Did Peter actually give a damn about elaborate proposals? Not really, but that didn't stop him from standing outside Stiles' window with a boombox blasting _In Your Eyes_ with a velvet box of his own.

"You're such a fucking showoff," Stiles tells him as he comes outside.

"It'll make sure all our stories are memorable, sweetheart," Peter promises as he hands the box over. Stiles flicks it open and tilts his head back in a full body laugh that never failed to make Peter revel in his beauty all over again. He also manages a smirk this time because the delicate silver band has the Batman logo etched into it.

* * *

Their wedding turns out to be nothing fancy, just the two Argents and Derek attending with Deaton replacing a priest. Their vows were simple things, their first dance was uncoordinated because apparently Stiles is only graceful when he's fighting, and everyone had tears in their eyes once it was done. Even Peter did, though he'd never admit that to anyone but his husband.

Peter spent the afternoon and early evening just trying to process the fact that the beautiful man sitting next to him, the one with the glittering horns and sweet-as-honey voice, was really all his. That he'd get to wake up every morning and see Stiles for the rest of his life; he'd get to listen to Stiles' off-key singing in the shower, eat the unpronounceable Polish meals he whipped up for special occasions, and hold him whenever he wanted.

And Stiles seemed to be just as excited, unable to sit still even through the speeches the other three insisted on making. The Argents had managed to slip a few thinly veiled threats into their speeches, something about sticking tasers in Peter's squishy bits if he ever even entertained the thought of leaving Stiles. Derek's was by far the classiest of the speeches, though that didn't take much effort.

"You guys really belong together, you're the same level of assholes," he had said, and raised his glass of champagne.

* * *

It's not until they get home from a great honeymoon in Mexico that they realized they'd forgotten to inform Magnus of their nuptials. They realized that because the older warlock was sitting in the living room of the newly rebuilt Hale House when they returned home, and all the glitter in the world couldn't hide the rage burning in those gold-green eyes of his.

"Really," Magnus had practically growled," you couldn't even send a fucking text that you two were getting hitched? Couldn't shoot me an email or just mention it in passing or even use smoke signals so I wouldn't be blindsided when Derek talks about how nice the fish was?" He glowers at them from across the room (he'd broken another window and the glass was scattered deliberately across the hardwood floors), and Peter was legitimately scared the warlock might blast them into next month.

"Did you still get us a present," Stiles asked, because he has no sense of self-preservation and he's the world's biggest asshole at the best of times.

Peter really did choose the perfect mate.


	2. Additions

Derek had never been the Clave's biggest fan considering the way they treated Downworlders as second-class citizens, but seeing Jem Carstairs holding a feral Omega against the brick wall of _Sparks and Lightening_ was making him reevaluate that a bit. It had been hard work to track the Omega down in the first place and Derek had been caught off guard when it cornered him in an alley, but then Jem had come charging in like Death in designer jeans.

"Holy fuck," the werewolf breathes in shock, watching muscles shift under the pale skin of Jem's arm—he always forgot how strong this Shadowhunter (Silent Brother?) was until he was given a demonstration. "Where'd you come from?"

"Does that really matter," Jem asks, looking over at him with a quirked brow. "I believe I've just saved you from being gutted outside your Uncle's bookshop."

"Yeah, thanks for that." The Omega lets out a snarl that had the 'wolf's attention sliding back to it as it struggled against Jem's hold. Derek knew from experience that having anyone near your throat was an uncomfortable situation, but having the hold being as tight as Jem's or belonging to a stranger, then it bordered on threatening. Especially when the person holding was, you know, ripped.

"Now, would you like to ask him some questions or was there another reason you had for tracking him down?" Derek tightened his jaw as he stood up, thanking all the gods in heaven that Stiles and Peter were determined to keep even their alley clean so that he didn't have slime and muck covering his back from where he'd been thrown.

"What's your name?" The Omega snaps at him, fangs clicking together almost violently, eyes blazing Beta gold. _At least he hasn't killed anyone yet_. Derek allows his eyes to bleed red and puts as much command in his voice as he's able when he repeats his question.

"Javier," he grits out, struggling against Jem's hold. The Shadowhunter didn't appear worried, but Derek had heard stories about this one. This was the man that had been tortured by a Greater Demon, forced to watch as his parents were killed and was poisoned by yin fen as a sort of revenge against all Carstairs. This man was the story that was passed down as a lesson to Downworlders ("don't misbehave, they say there's a Shadowhunter that defies death and helped defeat the clockwork army") and to little Shadowhunters ("there's a man that gave up his freedom to ensure his love and his _parabatai_ stayed alive").

"Bitten or born?"

"B-born." He was flinching under the blood red of Derek's stare, molten gold fading to a stormy gray and teeth returning to blunt human ones. "I was born." Derek studies him for a minute, taking in the brown of his complexion and the way his hands shook; his accent suggests an upbringing in Mexico and the tattoo inside his right wrist of a quote from the bible was written in Spanish but infected from a dirty needle.

"What happened to your pack?" Gold colors his eyes again and a vicious snarl makes Derek's hackles rise, another warning growl putting the Omega back in his place. There was a pack hierarchy for a reason and Derek would be damned if he allowed this Omega to have visions of grandeur (he got enough of that from Peter until a bloodthirsty Alpha wandered into town and ended up buried in the Preserve).

"Calaveras swooped in and wiped them out during the War. Alicante wasn't the only place that suffered." Derek knew about that all too well, remembering the burning pain of Fae weapons that took forever to heal. "You know Araya?"

"All too well."

"She and her brood came bursting into my family's home claiming that they had proof that we'd sided with the Courts, that werewolves were filthy dogs brought even lower by the Fair Folk's influence. She and two of her boys slaughtered my pack, babies and all. I want them dead!"

"But you ran off instead." It wasn't an accusation, Derek and Laura had done exactly like that and had come to regret it just seven years later. He and Peter got their revenge, though, and they got Cora back to make things all the sweeter. "Did you try to contact the Clave for reparations?" Javier lets out a hoarse laugh, relaxing slightly in Jem's hold when he realized the Shadowhunter wasn't going to kill him.

"There wasn't time, not with the Cold Peace being arranged and the reconstruction of their precious Idris. By the time they even considered taking my request, my anchor was lying dead in my arms." Tears make his gray eyes shine, crystals under the moonlight as they made tracks through the grime covering his cheeks. "My daughter was only three years old and she died of a fever. _She was human_."

"I understand."

" _How could you ever understand?_ "

"I'm a Hale." Javier goes stock-still, gaze turning a mix of wary and interested as he took in one half of the two Alphas that had wreaked havoc on a rogue family of Shadowhunters. Derek knew well what the tales had described, two wolves half out of their minds and storming the California Institute to rip out the throats of Gerard and Kate. The truth was far less dramatic (well, as less dramatic as things could be with Peter making the plans), they had lured the Argents to the old Hale house and killed them there. "I understand how you feel all too keenly."

"You made a new pack?"

"Of a sort." Derek manages a sad smile as he thinks about the pups that had joined him, the four Betas and the walking gecko (Jackson was forever angry that Stiles had taken to calling him Geico whenever he and Peter stopped in for a visit), not to mention a banshee with enough sass to put Alphas in their place beneath her Christian Louboutin heels. "Think you've calmed down enough for a hot meal and some tea?"

"You'd feed me after what I've done?"

"You roughed me up a little, nothing I couldn't handle. Jem, you wanna…?" Jem shrugs and releases the 'wolf, taking a few steps back. "Come on, it just so happens I know the owners of this shop." Derek leads the way into _Sparks and Lightening_ , nodding at Stiles as they all file inside. "Where's Peter?"

"I sent him out for pizza. Figured you'd want some carbs after getting your ass handed to you." Javier snorts, looking over at the warlock with something like reverence. Whether it was because Stiles spoke to an Alpha so casually or because the man was beautiful, Derek would probably never know. "You two hungry back there?"

"Starving," Javier nods, rubbing at his belly through the tattered blue shirt. "I haven't eaten anything warm in months."

"You're not the type to hunt?"

"No, I've been a vegetarian for two years now. My daughter, she was always getting upset at the thought of eating helpless animals and converted my entire… Pack." His voice breaks and he nearly jumps out of his skin when Derek squeezes his shoulder. Once he realized the gesture wasn't threatening, he melts into the touch, probably just as starved for it as he was a meal.

"Don't worry," Derek promises," you're pack now."

* * *

Javier fit into the pack nicely, though he preferred California to the hustle and bustle of New York. He texted a near constant commentary to Lydia about the drama of Beacon Hills, everything from the Kelpie attacks to the prank war Stiles and Allison had launched against Chris that only ended when they were all drenched in neon green paint and Javier reigned victorious.

By the time he'd been in the pack for three months, he had put on some weight and looked a lot healthier, though that was mostly because of regular therapy sessions with the local druids. It didn't hurt that Araya Calavera and her two boys were killed in a freak accident just on the border of California, their throats slashed and their eyes burned right out of their skulls. And if Javier and Stiles just so happened to be in the area at the time, well the Clave didn't need to know.

Javier was a hard worker and smarter than most people Derek had ever met before, spending all his free time curled up in the bookstore with some novel or another propped up on his knees (he and Lydia talked about math theories for ages one Christmas and only stopped when Jace threatened to bludgeon them with his stele). It wasn't a surprise for any of them that the 'wolf was accepted for a teaching position at BHHS as the new science teacher. No one mentioned that teachers didn't tend to last long and all were surprised when he came home one night and revealed that his newest friend was the half-mad lacrosse coach with the hair that defied gravity.

By the end of his fifth year in Beacon Hills, he sent Lydia a picture of a pretty woman with blue-green hair and a beautiful pair of brown eyes. She was a mermaid that had come to California on vacation, hailing from somewhere in the Mediterranean with an accent that depended on her mood.

* * *

Apparently mermaids were even better pranksters than all the Downworlders in Beacon Hills because the next prank war is won by Theodosia when she used her low grade Siren Call to get the others to do the Macarena in front of half the town. Derek has the video on his phone to prove it and he'd make sure it got passed down for generations to come.

* * *

It's nearly three in the morning when Derek wakes up to his cell phone ringing, his hand knocking pretty much everything off his nightstand when he tried to answer the fucking thing. "What," he snaps down the line when he finally manages. What Peter tells him a second later is enough to have him sitting bolt upright in bed with sleep the last thing on his mind. "What the fuck do you mean you and Stiles knocked up the mermaid?" There's a muted thump down the hall and then Lydia is panting in the doorway, Jackson stumbling in behind her with his blond hair sticking up all over the place.

"You tell Peter that this had better be a joke or I'm going to murder him slow," she demands, eyes narrowed into a glare that could make Deucalion tuck tail and run.

"Did you get that?" There's arguing on Peter's end, then a yelp, and then it's Stiles talking to him while his uncle whined on the floor. "Oh, well I guess that's not so bad." Derek turns his gaze back to Lydia, keeping his eyes locked on her face since she was currently glowering away in her birthday suit. "Theo's a surrogate for them, you don't have to kill anyone."

"Who the fuck would willingly let Peter raise a baby," Jackson asks. And yeah, that's a pretty legitimate question considering Peter couldn't even keep a plant alive pre-Stiles.

"Stiles says to shut up or he'll dose your drink next time you come down and shave you bald."

"I'd like to see him try."

"He also says something about a picture from junior year and Nair in your shamp—"

"I fucking knew that was him!" Jackson's face would probably be beet red if not for the green scales appearing, blue eyes flashing brightly in the dark hallway as he turns to look at his girlfriend. "I told everyone, but nobody believed me!"

"Now he says to go sale someone car insurance, so he can have a sensible conversation with me and Lydia." There was also something in there about useless geckos and toxic masculinity, but Derek thought it was best to leave that out while Jackson pouted about bald spots that didn't grow back right until he got the Bite.

* * *

Javier was just as excited as everyone else about the fact that Peter and Stiles would be having a baby of their very own. He didn't want anymore kids of his own after having to bury his little girl, but that didn't stop him from putting together a list of possible names from all nationalities, highlighting his favorites and debating meanings with Stiles during their lunch breaks.

Some of the teachers even got in on the name game, putting together a jar filled with their favorites and forcing Javier to deliver it on his way home (Finstock insisted that Bobby could easily be a girl's name and that they shouldn't shoot him down so quickly). By the time that Theodosia was actually showing, the entire town knew of her pregnancy and had already swarmed _Sparks and Lightening_ for all the baby books they had, which was redundant considering Stiles and Peter just put them back after they'd perused the more interesting ones.

The pack in New York weren't much better; Lydia and Jackson bought out an entire baby boutique, Boyd and Erica offered up free babysitting anytime even if they had to portal to California to do it, Derek and Cora offered up the Hale family crib that had been in storage and was undamaged by the fire, and Isaac gave them a homemade book of lullabies that his father used to sing to him when he was little.

The Argents weren't much different, deciding that they'd help to train the baby when it was old enough that way it stood a chance against the various monsters and demons that tended to pop up like clockwork. Stiles jumped on that opportunity and even phoned in a favor from Alec for some extra training where taking care of angry babies was concerned.

Of course, the biggest help was Javier during the nighttime cravings of peanut butter and Oreo blasts from Sonic. Armed with Peter's MasterCard, he set out at all hours to make sure his girlfriend was never hungry even if it meant plugging his nose because the smell of French Onion Dip was foul enough to make him gag in the grocery store.

* * *

Pregnancy, Javier decided one day in early November, was still the worst thing to ever happen. Derek just so happened to agree with him since he'd made the mistake to come visit for a few days and ended up lumped with his Beta to fulfill any food orders and just trying to keep Theodosia comfortable as the pregnancy progressed.

California winters weren't so bad compared to other places, but the dropping temperatures combined with the sixty-five degrees that Theodosia insisted on keeping the house were enough to have Derek questioning his life choices. Was being the honorary uncle (Scott McCall would have to pry that title out of his cold dead hands) really worth his unmentionables falling off due to frostbite?

As if that wasn't bad enough, Theodosia got downright _mean_ sometimes. She nearly bit poor Javier's head off one afternoon when he'd made the mistake of mentioning the fit of her clothes. In his defense, he'd only meant that her shirt was tucked into the back of her pants, but the mermaid had launched into a rant of epic proportions of just what this pregnancy was doing to her body and that Javi could get bent if he didn't like his girlfriend being fat.

Javi, being the sensible man that he was, went out and bought a hundred dollars' worth of Häagen-Dazs and action movies.

* * *

The day Theodosia's water breaks in the middle of Walmart is also the day that Derek discovers just how truly useless his uncle-in-law is. The warlock puts two and two together about why the mermaid was currently leaking and then he fainted in the middle of the candy aisle.

They ended up leaving Stiles there until they had Theodosia checked into the hospital.

* * *

Alejandro Theodore Stilinski-Hale is born on December fifteenth, a whole five pounds that felt like nothing as Derek held him for the first time. The baby slept fitfully for the most part until a 'wolf was holding him, soaking up their warmth and making soft sounds of contentment. Derek would deny crying if anyone asked, but the proof was Peter's screensaver for nearly two months until little Alex smiles for the first time.

* * *

Javier and Theodosia officially move in together after dating for three years, adopting a little black cat to make it permanent. Neither of them understands why Derek and Stiles share a smile when Miguel is suggested as a possible name.

They end up naming it Coach to make Finstock stop complaining.

 **For anyone wondering, Javier's tattoo is 1 Peter 5:7 "Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you".**


	3. Peace and Quiet

The Nephilim were truly the biggest assholes Peter has ever met, especially when they decide to just show up with no warning at six in the morning while rambling about daycare. Peter was a gentleman, so he did the grown up thing and just slammed the door in their faces instead of using their innards to decorate his front yard like he really wanted to. Stiles shuffles into the living room with an adorable case of bedhead, squinting at the door.

"Who," he manages, pointing.

"The ginger menace and the cover of Shadowhunter Weekly." Stiles just gives him a blank stare, his mind a slow-working thing in the mornings without caffeine to jumpstart it. "Clary and Jace."

"Fuck 'em."

"Maybe not this early in the morning, but I'm open if you are." The words were out before he could stop them, but Stiles just gives an amused snort before moving back towards their bedroom. Peter follows after him, looking forward to getting as much sleep as he could while the baby was staying with Javier and Theodosia for the weekend.

Stiles is swaying tiredly in the doorway when Peter makes it back up the stairs, head tilted to the side like the curious fox he is. Peter's brows furrow and he comes to stand next to him, suddenly understanding what had his husband so confounded. Their bedroom window was opened when he specifically remembered closing it the night before, and a certain blond Shadowhunter was climbing through.

Jace freezes when his gaze meets theirs, and then he's letting out noises of offense when Peter shoves him back out.

* * *

The pair of them showed up a few hours later when Peter and Stiles were enjoying a late breakfast that wasn't burnt eggs or baby food that Alejandro threw at them. They were perfectly groomed and dressed in something that wasn't black (basically a miracle where the Nephilim were concerned, somebody call the Vatican), while Peter and Stiles were still in their jammies.

"You guys don't take hints, huh," he asks, looking at them over the rim of his coffee cup. "Should I spell it out or draw you a picture? Maybe put a neon sign on the door that says _No Shadowhunters Allowed_."

"You should know by now that that wouldn't stop us," Jace says, plopping down at the kitchen table and pulling Clary down in his lap. It was sickeningly sweet, and Peter wanted to gag. Stiles seemed to share that thought because he kicks Jace under the table until the younger man moved his girlfriend to the chair next to him.

"Why are you here," Stiles asks around a yawn. "It's barely noon."

"We're here with brochures for daycares in the area," Clary says, smacking a handful of pamphlets down on the table near the plate of crispy bacon. "Magnus said you guys were having some trouble with Alex at the store."

"Only when old ladies try to pinch his cheeks and, frankly, I'd splash water in their faces if they tried to do that with me, too."

"He's barely one," Jace says, sitting forward," how's he throwing water in people's faces?"

"His biological mom is a mermaid, genius. He got Theo's water manipulation and bright blue hair." Peter grabs his phone up from the table and unlocks it to show the Shadowhunters the latest picture of the baby, his cheeks covered in strawberry preserves and a huge, gummy smile for his daddies.

"Cutest baby ever," Peter informs them smugly.

"Tied with little Maxie," Clary confirms, showing them a picture of Magnus and Alec's adopted baby.

"No, our baby's definitely cuter." Stiles nods along with Peter, but he still coos over the other baby just like he would their son. "Alright, you've dropped off the pamphlets, now scram. We're baby-free until Monday and I'm going to take advantage of that right on this table. Sweetheart, grab the syrup." Jace and Clary were gone so fast that Peter's surprised when his floor didn't have skid marks.

"We're not having sex yet," Stiles tells him," not until I've had more coffee."

"I didn't say anything about sex. I need the syrup for my waffles and we forgot to grab it before we sat down. Nice to know our sex life can rid the house of Shadowhunters, though."

* * *

They were actually in the middle of undressing each other later that night when their doorbell rang again. Stiles told him to ignore it the first time and Peter was happy to do just that as his husband kissed and nibbled his way down towards Peter's waistband. When the doorbell rang again, Peter stomped his way downstairs and flung the door open, glaring down at Simon.

"We're having sex, go away!"

* * *

They do that two more times that Saturday. It's pretty effective even if it makes their mailman squeak in surprise at Peter's snappish tone.

* * *

When he yells it at Derek, his nephew just pushes him aside and walks right in anyway. Stiles was sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of Cheetos balanced on his chest and the Roku remote in his hand. Derek arches a brow at Peter and the older 'wolf shrugs. "What? It's our first weekend alone in a year and we're taking advantage of it."

"When we yell that we're having sex, people run away," Stiles adds, scrolling through the Netflix menu. "We've only boned a couple times, but the excuse bought us an uninterrupted dinner."

"Why are you here, Nephew?"

"Jace climbed through my window and said that he forgot to give this to you guys," Derek explains, holding up yet another pamphlet. "Said that this one was Magnus' first choice but it fell out when you stopped them breaking in this morning."

"Just put it on the kitchen table." Derek nods and disappears through the doorway while Peter collapses on the couch, Stiles' feet in his lap. It was nice to just relax like this, not worrying about Alejandro crying or getting hurt in general (or stuffing a Lego block up his nose and attempting to get it out before Stiles got home). "There's some brownies in there if you want one!" Derek comes back into the living room a moment later, three brownies in his hand and another stuffed in his mouth if the crumbs in his beard were anything to go by.

"What are you watching?"

"Breakout Kings," Stiles says around a mouthful of Cheetos. Derek nods, watching the show long enough for the theme song to start playing before pushing at Peter's shoulder and dropping down once the werewolf scooted over. "Inviting yourself now?"

"Let me stay and I'll give any nosey Shadowhunters my murder eyebrows."

Needless to say, they finished both seasons of the show and Derek only had to get up once.

* * *

Sunday morning goes a little smoother, Stiles and Peter up in time to go out for breakfast at the local diner for pancakes and fresh strawberry slices. They talked a little, played footsie under the table where no one could see them being saps, and just enjoyed the baby-free silence. They spent a few more hours going to different stores to stock up on the little jars of organic baby food that Alejandro loved, buying a few more graphic tees for the warlock, and going for a run in the park.

Afternoon found them in the movie theater watching the latest Marvel flick and then having a picnic in their backyard. The privacy fence turns out to be a blessing because they barely make it through Peter seductively eating strawberries before Stiles was pushing the food aside and climbing his husband like a tree.

When they made it back inside, they find another handful of leaflets shoved through the mail slot. Written on one of them in a purple gel pen (Peter was going to shove all these papers and that gel pen up Magnus' ass next time they went to New York) was an address to a daycare that specifically catered to Downworlder children like Alex. Stiles tucks that one away inside his copy of _Mer-people for Dummies: The Idiot's Guide to Raising A Little Mermaid_ and threw the others in the nearest trashcan.

* * *

When they get their son back on Monday evening, Peter was itching for any noise even if it was a constant whine because of a tummy ache. Theodosia left with words of advice, little ones like her godson calmed down in water, which made their hot tub a godsend. Stiles checked and then double checked the temperature was cool enough for Alejandro before allowing Peter and the baby to get in, using his magic to keep the steam out of the baby's face.

"It's okay, little man," Stiles promises softly, clasping Alex's hand between his thumb and forefinger with a gentle pressure. "Daddy and Pops are gonna fix that belly ache of yours. Make you feel like a thousand bucks, my little raindrop."

"That's right," Peter joins in, wrapping his free arm around his mate's shoulders," we're gonna make you all better." Alejandro's whining calmed as he stared up at his parents, drool rolling down his chin when he shoved a hand in his mouth to chew on. Peter smiles, forcing himself to keep calm lest his heartbeat give him away. Alex had just enough werewolf biology to heighten his senses beyond a usual merman and heartbeats were definitely something he liked to listen to.

"Alright, bud, you're gonna feel a little tingly." Stiles extricates his fingers from where their son was waving them around, settling his palm on his bare tummy and tickling just lightly enough to make the baby giggle for the first time since he got home. "Yeah, it's funny, huh? Magic is supposed to feel like that, supposed to make you all warm and fuzzy."

"And your daddy is great with his magic."

"Damn straight." Stiles' brown eyes close as he focuses, a faint shock of static going through Peter's bones like a rumbling hum, and then a dim red glow covered their son's belly. Peter holds his breath, watching as the baby relaxed in the cradle of his arm, blue eyes fluttering shut with the whisper of lashes against his plump cheeks. On his right, Stiles melts against him, hand moving up to cup the baby's head in a protective gesture.

"You always look so beautiful when you use your magic, love."

"You're just saying that, so I do that position you love so much in bed tonight."

"Well, that's always going to be a factor." Stiles smiles tiredly, nuzzling against Peter's shoulder. "Mostly, though, I say things like that because they're true. You're the most gorgeous warlock I've ever met and I'm so glad you agreed to marry someone like me."

"I married you because you're a good person. You know, way deep down beneath the trust issues, mental scars, and superiority complex."

"I also have a great ass."

"Yeah, that was number one on the pros and cons list I made with Scott."

* * *

Later that night, after he's settled their son down between them on the bed, alarm clock reading one in the morning, Peter lets out a content sigh at having his family all together again.

Peace and quiet was nice in small doses, but he'd take his baby fussing any time.


	4. Steal Away Your Heart

Derek wasn't the type to believe that everyone had a mate out there, especially since the past two women he dated turned out to be psychopathic killing machines. So, naturally, he ran into his mate in the middle of the farmer's market and she turned out to be a faerie. What even is his luck?

Braeden is beautiful and strong, proudly wearing her scars from the Dark War when one of her brothers had tried to kill her for choosing the Nephilim over the Fair Folk. She had been in the middle of bargaining over fresh apricots when Derek had literally fallen for her, or rather _on top_ of her after tripping over a child's forgotten toy.

His instinct as he tried to push up was to say he was sorry, but then he saw the way her brown eyes almost looked like caramel, and then he took a deep breath and got a lungful of smoke and Calla Lilies. The apology withers away on his tongue, remembering what the Nephilim would do to him if they thought he was mingling with the faerie. He scrambles back to his feet as quickly as he could and helped her up before basically sprinting back to his car, not saying a word.

He keeps looking over his shoulder the entire way back to his loft, afraid that a Shadowhunter would pop out and have him shipped to the Silent City or killed at any moment. Hell, the Clave had sent one of their own to Wrangle Island—a fucking dead zone where she would never progress through the ranks—just for being born half-fey. He didn't want to think of what they'd do to a 'wolf that was mated to a faerie.

He decides to just put the incident behind him and carry on with his life, pretend that he didn't have a mate out there just like he always had. It was the best thing to do for them both, after all. The safest thing.

"Dude," Erica complains when Derek walks inside half an hour later, looking up from the recipe book in front of her. "How am I supposed to make cobbler without the peaches?"

"You had one job, D," Isaac adds, using Erica's disappointment as a distraction to snag one of the cut up pieces of potato. "You've failed us. Go to the shame corner." Erica doesn't look away from their Alpha as she whacks Isaac's hand with a nearby spoon, the younger Beta letting out a sharp yelp before retreating out of the kitchen.

"What happened? You look like someone slapped you."

"It's nothing," Derek mumbles. Because how hard could it be to live without his mate when he's been doing it for thirty-two years now?

* * *

Turns out it's pretty fucking difficult.

There's a steady ache in Derek's chest that had never been there before, fluttering under his collarbone like an insistent butterfly bent on driving him insane. He tried to ignore it at first, but the feeling was growing stronger and the skin there is an angry red from how often he scratched at it to try and make the feeling go away.

He made it a full week before he hopped on the first plane to LAX and then rented a motorcycle to get to Beacon Hills. Peter and Stiles are in the nursery when he makes it to their house, cooing over Alex as the baby tries to stuff both feet in his mouth. "Derek, come look at this," Peter says distractedly, waving him over. "If he can feet all ten of his toes, then Chris owes me twenty bucks."

"Uncle Peter…." Maybe it's because his voice sounds raw or maybe it's because he actually referred to Peter as his uncle out loud—something he hasn't done since the fire—but Peter's head snaps up and he's crossing the room in two long strides, cupping Derek's face with gentle hands like he used to whenever Derek was upset as a kid.

"Stiles, why don't you go pour Derek some of that Scotch we got from South Carolina a few years ago?" Stiles doesn't need to be told twice, scooping the baby up and sweeping out of the room with only the faint scent of sandalwood left behind. Peter steers Derek to the room across the hall, forcing him to sit on the edge of the bed before kneeling in front of him. "Alright, what happened, cub?"

"You haven't called me that in years." In fact, the last time had been when Derek was nine and decided he was too old for childish nicknames. He wanted to throttle his younger self for that. He'd do anything to get that innocence back, to curl up in the pre-Kate years and never leave them or the family he no longer had. "You look worried."

"Wouldn't you be worried if your baby sister showed up without warning and looked like she was about to be ripped apart at the seams?" Derek thinks he'd probably tear the world to pieces if Cora ever looked like that. "What happened? Who do I need to maul?"

"I found my mate." Peter's eyes do their best impression of dinner plates, nearly bugging out of his head at the news.

"That's great—"

"She's one of the Fair Folk." His eyes go even wider if that's possible, and a small part of Derek's mind wonders if they would pop right out and roll down the stairs. Peter was quiet for a moment, staring down at the carpeting with a sort of blank look as though his mind needed a complete reboot. Then, when Derek was starting to think he'd broken his uncle, Peter glanced back up at him.

"Well, fuck."

* * *

After the shock has worn off and the baby had been handed off to his godparents for the night, the three of them sit at the kitchen table with a bottle of wolfsbane-laced scotch being passed around. Of all the ways he'd thought he'd spend his Sunday night, it wasn't getting drunk with his uncle and a warlock.

"You're sure you don't want to find her," Stiles asks after a while, looking up at Derek through his lashes. Derek takes a minute to swallow before dipping his head in a slow nod. He _couldn't_ contact her, it went against the Cold Peace. "Then why do you look so awful?"

"Because they're already tethered," Peter murmurs in realization. "That's it, isn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean," Derek says truthfully. His parents hadn't been meant for each other, not true mates, so they had no real way to explain the concept to Derek when he was growing up. Laura found her mate, but she was killed a few days later and hadn't reported any weird feelings beforehand.

"Does it feel like you've got a bird trying to beat through your chest?" Derek nods, leaning forward in his seat as if to hear his uncle better. "And it hurts, but in the same way a good massage hurts at first. If you can just get through the initial burst of pain, it'll all be worth it?"

"Yes, that's exactly what it feels like."

"It's something that happens in honest-to-God mates, to the 'wolves anyway. I felt it the first time Stiles and I touched, and it didn't ease until we were married. I still feel it, but it's more like a pleasant humming in my bones."

"It's driving me insane. What do I do?"

"We can't tell you what to do, Nephew. The next step is up to you in all of this." Derek frowns, staring down at the bottle as if it held all the answers in the world. How was he supposed to know what to do about all of this? He was still a child compared to most Alphas, and the only true mates he knew about were the people sitting across from him and Erica and Boyd back in New York.

* * *

Turns out he didn't have to worry long because his mate tracked him down to his loft on a Wednesday when the Betas and Lydia were gone. She looked just as beautiful as he remembered, marching confidently inside without waiting for an invitation. "This is fucking nuts," she states, plopping down on his couch. "I should hate anyone with connections to the Clave after the punishment they handed out."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't agree with what they decided." She considers that for a moment, full lips pursed until her gaze flicked back to him. Derek sits on the other end of the couch, torso angled towards her and hands clasped tightly in his lap to keep from scratching at his breastbone. "Not all of the Fair Folk should be punished for their Queen's mistakes."

"Join the club, we can make T-shirts."

"My uncle's mate would buy about fifty of those on principal." That makes her laugh, a faint breathy sound that made Derek's heart speed up. It was a sound he wanted to hear more of, wanted to listen to everyday for the rest of his life. And, oh fuck, he was in deep. "My name's Derek Hale."

"Braeden." She holds out a hand and Derek reacts to it without even thinking, clasping her smaller hand with his and nearly flailing off the couch when an electric shock makes his hand tingle and his breath catch in his throat. It wasn't painful or anything, more like when you drag your socked feet over the carpet and then touch someone.

"Are we really going to defy the Clave? They're made up of trained killers." Braeden arches a brow, the fire in her eyes making him want to raze the world to the ground as long as he could stay at her side. And that's when he noticed it, that the fluttering ache was beginning to calm down. Just having her so close to him made him feel less like he was floating above the earth and more like his feet could finally touch the ground without things going screwy.

"Before we decide what it is we're going to do, why don't we go out on a date first?"

"Alright, I can live with that."

* * *

Their first date is in _Sparks and Lightening_ , the back room done up in twinkling fairy lights (Stiles had seemed so pleased with himself at the joke that Derek's already decided to put glue in the warlock's hair gel) and unscented candles. It was romantic enough for the pair of them, sitting across from each other at a small table with Peter's famous spaghetti for supper.

They talked about their families—Derek's pack and Braeden's close circle of friends—and they talked about the mischief they had caused growing up. Braeden had been high up in the army, a warrior through and through, and it hurt her that she could no longer fight without the possibility of being slaughtered. Derek told her about how his family and their home were burned to the ground by a Shadowhunter, how he and his uncle had captured the one responsible and murdered her and her father in retribution when it became clear that the Clave would do nothing to help.

Afterwards, when the food was gone and the candles burning low, Derek and Braeden curled up together on the little nest Stiles had made and just shared memories—good ones, bad ones, the one about Jackson shaving Erica's hair while she slept and then Erica shaving his eyebrows in retaliation actually made Braeden snort with laughter.

Derek would do anything to hear that carefree sound again.

* * *

Their second date is three weeks later when Braeden can slip back into the city, taking him deep into the woods on a full moon so they could dance in the moonlight. Derek's uncle had always cautioned him about dancing with faeries, said that even a 'wolf could be ensnared by them, but he'd never mention that silver moonlight made brown skin glow or dark hair look like the waves of the sea whenever Braeden spun.

The dance reminded him of the nights he and his family spent camping, watching the campfire sway and curl so gracefully and rhythmically. He felt clumsy in comparison, but Braeden was smiling and showed him the steps without complaint. She didn't even mind when he stepped on her toes.

By the time the sun was rising in the east, Derek was breathless and exhilarated and wondering how he'd lived this long without his mate. They walk through Central Park together until they reach the entrance to the Courts, Derek reluctant to release the light hold he had on her hand. Everything, all of his instincts, were screaming at him to keep her with him, to take her to his pack and let them scent her so she smelled like safety.

Those thoughts were derailed when her lips brushed his cheek, the only thought left in his brain a soft murmur of _family_.

* * *

It's not until they've been together for nearly a year that she moves in with him and the others, looking freer than he's ever seen her before. There was a shift in the hierarchy, but his Betas never once whined about the fact that their Alpha's mate wasn't a 'wolf or that they had to give Braeden the same respect they gave him.

If anything, they offered the fey respect easier than they had their Alpha. Derek would probably be miffed if he wasn't so delighted at the prospect of having his mate's scent all over his home or coming back from work to find her at the center of a puppy pile while she told them stories of what New York had been like two hundred years ago when she was just a child.

Magnus and Alec took some convincing, but Braeden won them over with her dry wit and archery skill, and Alec's siblings came around after a few lunches. Derek wasn't worried about them reporting the pack's treachery to the Clave, not when they had been so against the Cold Peace to begin with.

Javier and Theodosia came to visit one weekend in late fall with the excuse of wanting to see the leaves change. Javi spent most of the week training with the Betas and getting scented after having been away for so long, and he hadn't hesitated to give Braeden his number, so they could text.

Theo had accepted Braeden right away, the fey and mermaids intertwined by magic and ancient relatives. The Fair Folk wouldn't be alive if not for mermaids and vice versa, so it was no surprise to anyone when they discovered the pair of them tangled together on the couch and criticizing Ghost Hunters on Syfy.

* * *

Braeden, as it turns out, has never been around babies before. Faeries weren't exactly popping them out left and right since they were a long living race, so it really shouldn't come as such a shock to Derek when she asks him if there's a special way she should hold Alejandro when she meets him for the first time.

"Not really," Derek says, frowning as he tried to remember what he'd read about babies when Theo had been pregnant. "He's able to support his head by himself now, so you basically just hold him like you would a puppy."

"Babies are nothing like puppies, Der."

"They're loud, they cann't use a toilet, and they have Peter whipped within five minutes of being around him. The only real difference is that babies have the possibility of growing up to be assholes. Like Jackson." She nods and doesn't say anything else for the duration of their flight or the drive there.

Stiles is waiting for them on the front porch when they finally make it to Beacon Hills, Alex settled on his hip in the cute little outfit Lydia had sent just a few weeks ago. "It's about time you two decided to come see us again," the warlock greets. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten how to get here."

"No such luck."

"Well, damn, I guess I better go hide Melissa's cake."

"I'll sniff it out like a bloodhound." Stiles grins, clapping a hand against Derek's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "You remember Braeden."

"Of course I do, she's the one the made you so nervous that you ate all of my ice cream in less than two hours." He gives her a solid once over, seeming satisfied with what he saw in her. "Dude, she's way out of your league."

"I wouldn't be if he'd stop scowling at everybody," she comments. And there it is, the very moment Stiles accepted her as his new best friend and the world domination plotting would begin. "It's nice to see you again, Stiles."

"You too." There's a loud crash inside, followed by Scott's yelp which meant the Beta had found a way to screw up whatever it is that Peter's cooking. The string of cursing and the yell of _my lasagna, you moron_ really drove that point home as the three Downworlders cut their gazes to the open doorway. "Alright, time for my favorite game." He hands Alex off to Braeden and rushes inside to interrupt the building tantrum.

"Derek, what do I do? Oh God, he's staring at me. Derek, he's staring at me." She looks absolutely panicked, brown eyes wide with fear as she shifts her gaze between him and the squirming baby.

"Relax," he says, arranging the baby in her arms better so that she wasn't holding him away from her. "He's not going to bite you." She doesn't actually relax until Alex smiles up at her, a single white tooth visible and a little coo leaving him. Braeden frees one of her hands to smooth down some of his bright blue hair, the kinky curls tickling the pads of her fingers.

"He's so beautiful." Derek nods in agreement, pressing a kiss to Alex's forehead and allowing the baby to smell him. He seemed content as he watched them, chewing on one of Braeden's fingers and babbling every now and then. "Hey, what's Stiles' favorite game?" She looks up when Derek lets out a huff of laughter, brows furrowing.

"It's a joke from when Alex was really gassy as a newborn. He would start to stink, and Stiles would play Hot Potato with anyone close enough to foist him on. He did it to Isaac once and I thought the poor kid was going to cry before Boyd took mercy on him."

"Which kid?"

"Both of them, really."

* * *

The Clave finds out about their relationship three years down the line and a lengthy trial ensues. By the end, after extensive questioning and even more thorough poking and prodding, it's decided that the Hale Pack would no longer receive any sort of support from the Nephilim and they were effectively outcasts.

Of course, that didn't stop their extended family of Downworlders and Shadowhunters from stopping by every chance they got. Derek liked to think it was a silent protest on behalf of the Fair Folk that hadn't participated in the Dark War, but he also knew it was the others' way of giving the Clave the finger.

Derek found he couldn't care about the ruling, not when Braeden told Inquisitor Lightwood to go fuck himself in front of the entire Council and half of Alicante.


	5. Fate is Beckoning

Chris liked to think he was a reasonable man, tolerant of the Downworlders surrounding his only child, but then he walked in on his daughter half-naked and straddling a fucking werewolf. After that, who could really blame him for throwing Scott McCall out a third story window? The damn 'wolf healed perfectly fine as Alphas were wont to do and he landed in the bushes as well.

"Dad," Allison shouts, out of bed so fast that the mattress could have been spring-loaded. She didn't even pull on a shirt until she was able to see McCall sending up a half-hearted wave and then limping away from the Argent household. Once he was walking down the sidewalk out front, Allison spins around to face Chris. He has to admit that the fury in her eyes reminded him so strongly of her mother that he took a step back. "What the hell was that about?"

"I'm not answering anything until Victoria has her secret covered again," he says, closing his eyes tightly. "Just because I see it on my credit card statement doesn't mean I want to see it on my daughter."

"By the angel.…" She continues muttering under her breath, the sound muffled as she pulled on a ratty Ant Man shirt that Stiles had given her last year. "Now, explain yourself." Had she been anyone else, Chris might have leveled her with his patented glare that sent young Shadowhunters scurrying behind their mothers' skirts, but Allison is his baby girl. She was also entirely immune to the Murder Glare. He really missed those early days when a simple frown was enough to have her sprinting off to do as he'd asked.

"Explain _myself?_ You're the one that snuck a boy—a _Werewolf_ —into your room! Young 'wolves are dangerous and you know that." She arches an unimpressed brow, arms crossed over her chest and hip popped out. It was that stance all women tended to fall into whenever they were about to verbally eviscerate someone. Chris may feel the tiniest bits of fear.

"Stiles married an Alpha and you were perfectly fine with that." Not by a longshot. Just ask Peter and all the broken windows he had to replace until little Alejandro came along. Now Chris has to settle for sending glitter bombs via postal workers and the occasional Mermaid. "You have Derek's pack over whenever they're in town and you don't even make them turn their weapons over."

"What good is leaving their weapons outside when Erica made it perfectly clear that she could tear your grandmother to pieces with her teeth? Not even the fangs, Ally, the human ones."

"Yeah, well, Grandma had it coming after that comment she made about Boyd." And hadn't that been a fun evening in the Argent household? An eighty year old woman trying to climb the chandelier while Chris struggled to keep a Beta from going into a blind rage, the other 'wolves giggling around mouthfuls of pumpkin pie. Certainly a Thanksgiving to remember.

"Just promise me you'll be careful. Can you at least do that much for your old man?"

"We use condoms—"

"As proud as I am that the safe sex speech worked, I'd really like to think of you as my sweet little girl for at least thirty more years." She snorts, patting him on the shoulder.

"If it makes you feel any better, Scott's usually tied up."

And just like that, Chris was ready to fling himself out the window and see if that bush would hold his weight too.

* * *

It was a Wednesday when Chris actually talked to Scott McCall for the first time, finding the young Alpha in his kitchen with his cheeks stuffed full of chocolate chip pancakes. _Chris' chocolate chip pancakes._

Fuck, he hates this kid.

Instead of killing him with the rolling pin—blood was a real bitch to get out of wood floors and his daughter might be a little upset if she walked in on her father bludgeoning her boyfriend—Chris makes himself of cup of coffee and settles down at the head of the table to glare at the Werewolf. McCall makes an attempt to smile but winds up with syrup dribbling down his chin.

"If you hurt my daughter, you're going to be killed slowly," Chris states, entirely deadpan.

"Understood."

"Eat my pancakes again and I'll get creative with your death." That actually had the color draining from the kid's face, brown eyes turning down towards the empty plate with the smears of chocolate and butter.

"Oops."

* * *

McCall starts hanging around more frequently after a few months, first sitting stiffly in the chair reserved for people Chris hates—it had a spring that pokes into peoples' lower back and it's slightly lopsided—and then lounging on the couch with Allison tucked against his side. They made a cute couple, he'd admit, all dopey smiles and youthful determination.

It became almost routine to come home in the evenings and find the boy cooking dinner with either Allison or Stiles nearby to supervise. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, McCall just couldn't get any recipe right and Stiles was always quick to bring up the Toffee Tragedy of 1885 whenever McCall was getting arrogant. Chris didn't know what happened back then, but the way McCall's nose twitched in irritation never failed to make Chris smile.

McCall, despite all indicators otherwise, actually makes pretty good Camotes Enmielado and Chris finds himself looking forward to November.

* * *

It's late into October when Chris learns first hand why McCall isn't allowed to make toffee.

His kitchen is rebuilt by both Hale packs and the mixed bag of Downworlders that form the McCall pack.

They agree never to speak of the Toffee Tragedy of 2016 for at least two years or until Chris' eyebrows grow back.

* * *

It's a full year before all their families can come together, McCall and Allison working tirelessly to make sure everyone's schedules would be free on the first Monday of February. Chris didn't see why they decided on that particular date until he showed up in the spacious backyard of the Stilinski-Hale family and found it decorated to the nines in shades of red, white, and green.

That's the day he met Melissa McCall, a beautiful woman that wasn't afraid to call Chris out after she caught him glaring at her only child for the fifth time in less than twenty minutes. The woman's scarier than any Mundane has a right to be and he'd probably fall in love with her right then and there if he weren't still mourning his wife.

Throughout the day he learns how the McCalls had been reincarnated, gaining their memories in a slow trickle everyday they were alive in this new world that was so different to the one they had originally grown up in. Melissa had been born in Mexico in both lifetimes just as her son had been born in California, both of them proud of their heritage. Chris could understand it, he was equally proud of his Nephilim heritage and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Día de la Constitución passes in a whirl of color and off-key singing, ending on a high note as Stiles and Magnus send up flashes of sparks that form the Mexican flag and remain in the sky until the next morning.

Little Alex sits on Javier's lap as it grows darker and his bedtime passes, staring around with half-lidded eyes as he sucks absently on a baby carrot as he fought to get his back molars. Chris knows all too well that the two year old had been teething for the past week, getting all kinds of frantic calls in the middle of the night from both parents asking for tips.

Braeden, of all people, turned out to be a godsend after she informed them all that teething Merpeople often needed hard things to gnaw on since they'd be getting their baby fangs at the same time. Theodosia just nodded along at her side, bringing a container of carrots and cucumbers.

By the time the extended picnic was over, Alex had been held by everyone at least once and had promptly decided that his uncle Javi was the only person worthy enough to rock him to sleep. They learned this once they found Javier and Alejandro passed out on the couch. No one disturbed them, and the photo may or may not have been Theo's wallpaper for a month.

* * *

It's nearly two years before Chris notices that another Werewolf was spending time in his daughter's bedroom. He was just beginning to get used to finding McCall playing tonsil hockey with Allison and then she had to go and mix things up by doing it with some boy Chris had never even seen around town before.

Isaac Lahey got thrown out the window as well, but he didn't hit the bushes.

* * *

Chris thinks that Allison and McCall must have broken up for nearly three weeks until he walks in one afternoon to find them tangled together on his sofa. "I thought you were dating that other 'wolf now. The one with the hair." Chris tugs at the short strands of his own hair for emphasis.

"I am," Allison nods, finally coming up for air.

"But you're making out with McCall."

"I'm dating him, too." Chris stands there for a moment, trying to do the math in his head. He barely even notices as the teenagers stroll out of the house. He decides to interrogate Ally later and make himself a sandwich before he has to get back to tutoring wayward Shadowhunters.

* * *

The next time he comes in and finds his daughter making out on the sofa, it's the Lahey boy she's doing it with. He honest to God feels a little angry at the sight, more because he thought he'd raised his daughter better than to cheat on people than because he'd never be able to look at his poor couch the same.

"Allison, what the fuck," he asks bluntly. Lahey, not expecting the interruption, lets out a squeak and falls off the couch. Chris doesn't pay him any mind, too focused on the way his daughter was dating more than one person. Honestly, didn't she have any respect for the kid? Was she just using him to make McCall jealous?

"What's your problem now," she asks, a little breathless as she sits up. The strap of her dress is hanging off her shoulder and there's a faint bruise at the base of her throat where Lahey had been sucking before Chris interrupted.

"You shouldn't string this kid along like this. It's not fair to him and it's certainly not fair to McCall." Her brows furrow and she tilts her head to the side, looking like she was trying to decipher a puzzle.

"Daddy, what do you think I'm doing here?"

"I think you're cheating." She starts laughing then, actually fucking laughing in Chris' face, and Lahey joins in despite his blush. He's pretty, Chris supposes, like some kind of model that walked off the front of a magazine or something. "Why are we laughing? It's not something to joke about."

"Dad, I'm dating him and Scott."

"Yeah, that's the definition of cheating."

"Isaac and Scott are also dating each other." Chris takes a minute to think about that, shuffling down the hall to his study and pouring himself a drink. Polyamorous relationships weren't uncommon among 'wolves considering how deep pack bonds ran, but it was almost unheard of with Shadowhunters.

He wasn't going to forbid the relationship as long as everyone involved is okay and it stays consensual. He may be a bit old fashioned, but he wasn't a complete bastard. Still, the thought of his mother finding out about Allison's boyfriends during the Fourth of July barbeque made him wince.

Chris pours himself another glass of whiskey.

* * *

The teenagers have graduated high school and are about to head off to college, three different schools and a rigorous Skype schedule set up to make things easier on them. McCall had broken up with the other two their junior year after he met his mate, a young Kitsune with a bright smile and bubbly personality, but they all remained close friends.

McCall was just sliding the last box into place when Chris came outside, offering up a smile to the Alpha. McCall smiles back, completely at ease around the Shadowhunter after being around him for so long. After the kid had come to Chris with questions about which condoms worked best there had been no uncomfortable tension.

"You ready to head out," he asks, looking over the pickup Derek had loaned McCall.

"Yup, just waiting on Stiles so I can say bye." The Warlock was a complete mess at the thought of the other three leaving for higher education and Chris had seen him plotting out the quickest routes to get to the schools just yesterday. "Did you need anything, Mister Argent?"

"Just wanted to say good luck." He holds out his hand and McCall shakes it after a moment of hesitation, grip firm and confident. "You're a good kid, Scott, and a decent Alpha to your pack." Scott's smile widens, and he reminds Chris of a puppy that's just gotten a treat.

"That's the first time you actually used my first name."

"I know, feels all kinds of wrong." But he was smiling too and if he hugged Scott long and tight, well, that was their little secret.

Besides, Scott's father is an asshole and all kids need a good hug every now and then.

 **Camotes Enmielados is a traditional Mexican recipe that is popular to serve around Día de los Muertos.  
Día de la Constitución is a Mexican statutory holiday celebrated on the ****first Monday of February** **. This holiday commemorates the day in 1917 when the Mexican constitution was make into official law after the successful Mexican Revolution.**


	6. Smoke Rings and Cigarettes

Stiles had often re-met some of his old friends through the years thanks to reincarnation, always thrilled when those relationships seemed to pick up where they'd been left off before. Take Scott McCall for instance, he'd been one of Stiles' closest friends growing up, had never once feared the magic Stiles could wield with ease and he'd helped get the other boy out of trouble on numerous occasions.

Stiles found him again in Beacon Hills, a True Alpha and thus safe from the asthma that had taken him out of Stiles' life too soon before. They met outside Deaton's clinic and hugged for a good twenty minutes before ever registering that an old woman with an angry poodle was trying to get inside for an appointment. Turns out that, 'wolf or not, Scott still blushed when yelled at by gray-haired women with a tendency to hit young people with canes.

He'd met a few others like that too, some good and others evil (he still swore that the gods had it out for him when Harris showed up in an ice cream shop and immediately knocked the container of sprinkles right out of Stiles' hand before walking out).

It was beginning to seem like the one person Stiles really wanted to see again would never be reborn, but then he walked past the Sheriff's station one afternoon and heard a laugh that made his chest ache and his eyes sting. Peter and Alex don't even notice that he stopped until he lets out a choked sound, brown eyes fixed on the town's new Sheriff, the one with dark blond hair and laughing blue eyes.

"Stiles," Peter murmurs when he and their son get back to his side. "What is it? Who's that man you're looking at."

"My father," Stiles rasps, tears blurring his vision. "My father's back." Peter follows his gaze, letting out a slow breath as he spotted the few similarities. Stiles took after his mother in looks, but his personality was nearly identical to his fathers with a more flexible moral code.

"Go and talk to him." Stiles thinks on that for a minute then decides to hell with it and marches in with Peter following behind him. John and the deputy he was talking to both glace up when Stiles stops in front of them, the younger man offering up a smile.

"Sheriff, this was the young Warlock I was telling you about," Jordan says. "It's nice to see you guys again."

"You too, Jordan," Peter responds when the words stick in Stiles' throat. He just wants to drag his father into a hug, John always gave the best hugs and Stiles hasn't felt one in so long. "Sheriff, my name is Peter Hale. I run the local pack alongside the McCall boy."

"John Stilinski," John greets, shaking Peter's hand with a kind smile. "And that must make you Stiles." He holds out a hand for Stiles to shake and the lack of recognition in his eyes is like the feel of Malphas' talons raking down his back all over again. Stiles has to force himself to shake John's hand, unable to control the way it was shaking or how his glamour faltered for a split second to reveal the horns curling up from his forehead.

"You know, I think I should get my mate home. He's been feeling off all morning and only came to town because I asked." Before anything worse could happen, Peter steers Stiles out of the station and to their car down the block. "It's alright, Stiles, just give him time to remember."

"They don't always regain their memories," Stiles tells him bitterly. "My biological father controls several memory demons and he takes joy in hurting me."

* * *

It's surprisingly easy for Stiles to avoid his father considering the fact that Beacon Hills isn't exactly a big town. Of course, that doesn't stop him from diving behind a pyramid of cereal boxes when he nearly runs into the man at the Rite Aid and _of course_ John comes around the corner and gives him the concerned-confused stare of a man trying to figure out if he actually wanted to know something.

"Uh, you okay, kid," he asks, brows drawn together. It's an expression Stiles remembers well from when he was a child, usually reserved for when Stiles was acting squirrely (and once when he had a literal squirrel hidden in his wardrobe).

"Yeah, I just—" Stiles flails and grabs a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the top of the pile. "Alex loves these."

"Uh-huh." John doesn't even look halfway convinced, but he doesn't say anything else as he continues to walk down the aisle. Stiles shakes his head, tossing the box into his cart and then moving on to get the toaster Peter had actually sent him to the store for.

* * *

"You gotta talk to him at some point," Scott says three months later. "If you don't, then he'll never even get the chance to remember you."

"I can't do it, Scotty. Alright? It just… It'll hurt too much if I try and he still doesn't remember me."

* * *

Stiles doesn't have pleasant dreams very often, not since his little field trip to Hell with a group of Shadowhunters, Magnus, and an extremely pessimistic vampire that now owed Stiles a life debt after he saved his undead ass. The point is, Stiles has nightmare after nightmare and for him to have a nice dream threw him off his rhythm.

It was centuries ago, back when the Dead Sea was just a lake that was feeling a little poorly, and his father was settled in his armchair. Stiles was small, maybe seven and just starting to learn how to control his magic. John didn't mind the occasional fire, or their cat being turned into a small goat every now and then, always patient as Stiles tried his best to fix whatever he'd caused.

 _Stiles was seated at John's feet on the carefully woven rug his mother had made, little fingers twitching in his lap as he watched his father blow smoke rings. He loved watching the blue-tinted smoke drift and curl up to the ceiling, a twisting dance like a snake amongst grass._

 _The next time John makes a ring, Stiles focuses on it until he feels the sparks at his fingertips, letting out an excited cheer when the smoke twists into a dragon and zips right through their mantle. "I did good," he asks, beaming up at his father._

" _Very good," John agrees, leaning down to ruffle Stiles' hair. "Do you think you can do it again, Mały Lis?" Stiles nods almost violently, fingers glowing dimly as John takes in another puff from his pipe. This time Stiles changes the smell and color, a vivid pink carrying the scent of fresh strawberries. John swoops him up in his arms and spins him around, laughing at the control Stiles was showing. "Fantastic!"_

" _Papa," Stiles giggles, his little hands coming up to rest against his father's cheeks. "You do it?" John settles back in his chair with his son in his lap, running a gentle finger of the tiny horns that were just starting to curl._

" _No, sweet boy, your papa doesn't have magic like you do. It's a gift from the Angel." Stiles frowns at that, playing with the buttons along the front of his father's shirt. It wasn't fair that his papa couldn't have magic. His papa's the best man in the whole world, he should be allowed to change things like Stiles can._

" _I make the Angel give you magic when I'm older," he swears, turning big brown eyes up to his father. "I'll teach you like you're teaching me."_

" _I'd love that."_

When Stiles wakes up the next morning with tears drying on his cheeks, he's got a plan on how to make his papa remember.

* * *

The plan is a simple one, just a few tricks to trigger a dormant memory in John that has him pulling Stiles in for the world's best hug. Coincidentally enough, Stiles has taken to calling it Operation Snuggle and he ignores Peter's comment about him watching too much Once Upon a Time. That wasn't a thing that was possible now that there was Captain Hook's ass to admire on-screen.

It takes Stiles some time and twenty bucks at the local Rite Aid before the plan was ready to be set in motion. It started with Kira walking past the police station every day at three in the afternoon, sucking on one of those candy cigarettes at the precise time John came out for his lunch break.

Stiles might have done a little stalking in the planning phase. He might have also hacked the station's main computer system to see the shift schedules. Danny stepped in and threatened to disconnect Stiles' WiFi for the next three years if he didn't stop with the bad hacking.

Scott's part of Operation Snuggle takes place at seven every Tuesday evening when he walks by John with one of those kids' pipes that blow bubbles. He also wears an ascot and smoking jacket, but that's more for his own amusement than anything. On Wednesday mornings, Peter drops by the station with coffee for everyone and anecdotes from his and Stiles' marriage.

Stiles himself continues to find random hiding places and the twenty-something girl that works at the Rite Aid is probably getting tired of seeing him throw himself sideways behind various displays of toaster ovens.

* * *

"Son, what the hell are you doing?"

"Uh… Fondling… Watermelons?" John heaves a sigh and walks off, leaving Stiles to his armful of watermelons and an overly judgy stock girl. Stiles thinks she might be from the Asian heritage club that Kira had started, but maybe he's just dumb. "I'll put these back."

"Nope," the girl says. "You fondle them, you buy them."

* * *

On day one hundred and seventy-three, Stiles Stilinski-Hale has a breakdown in the park. He'd been on one of his walks to clear his head, certain by now that his papa would never remember him, and the pent-up emotions burst open like a dam. He's sitting on the merry-go-round when he hears footsteps on the damp grass, but he's too tired to so much as wipe the tears off his cheeks. He's earned his right to cry, goddammit, and he's going to do it no matter what person is creeping around town after dark.

The footsteps come to a stop just in front of him, worn-out sneakers giving way to a pair of gray sweats. Stiles can't make himself meet the intruder's gaze, but he can smell the tobacco, the sweet smell his papa had preferred, and he _knows_ who this person is. He can't look up into those eyes and not see a shred of memory. He _can't_.

John doesn't say anything at first, just resting a hand on Stiles' shoulder and squeezing. It's a friendly gesture, but it's not enough right now. Stiles wants a hug, a bone-crushing, love-you-more-than-life hug. But John Stilinski doesn't remember that first life and Stiles has run out of ideas on how to remind him.

"Peter called me," John says after a long moment. "He said I might find you out here." Stiles sniffles, fingers shaking as they twist in the hem of his shirt. His anxiety is running on high gear, draining him more than it ever has before. He just wants to go home and make his mind shut up, he wants the bottle of green pills that makes him relax just a smidge.

"I'm sorry he called so late. He worries a lot."

"He has every right to. I might be new to Beacon Hills but not to California." Translation: _Everyone knows about the Hale fire and the way that two suspected Shadowhunters suddenly dropped off the map as soon as Peter and Derek were strong enough to act_. It's not a threat, just a fact.

"You can go on home, Sheriff. I'll be fine." But John doesn't let go of his shoulder, in fact he squeezes just a little bit harder like he can force some reassurance into Stiles' bones. Stiles manages to lift his head to meet John's gaze, blue eyes filled with the same worry that filled his own when Alex took his first wobbly step just three days ago. It's a parental thing, one of those instincts that sink into you so deeply that they never leave.

"I'll walk with ya." Stiles nods and accepts John's hand, letting the older man pull him to his feet. His legs are like jelly and he feels completely exhausted, the anxiety attack exacting its toll. He'll never get used to this feeling. "You know, my son has anxiety too. I can have him call you when he comes home from college."

Stiles sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering rush, feeling like the Hulk had punched him right in the gut. His stomach curdles, chest tight as his breaths stutter in his throat. _Son?_

"His name's Liam." It hurts more than Stiles thought it would, like his heart is crumbling in his chest and the jagged shards are trying to cut their way out. "Stiles…?"

"I gotta go. Thanks for coming to find me." He's off and running before John can say anything else, not stopping until he's at Scott's house and wrapped in his bro's arms. Scott doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. He just hugs Stiles tighter, and Stiles cries.

* * *

"You know why he doesn't remember you, right," asks Judgy Rite Aid Girl. Stiles glances up from the box of printer ink he's been studying, finding her standing three feet away. She's pretty, her long hair pulled up into a ponytail and her eyes outlined in gold.

"Excuse me?"

"The Sheriff. He doesn't remember you." Stiles blinks as the woman's glamour falls to the wayside, her ears turning to points while her brown eyes change to a dark, muddy red. The uniform, which had been a little big to begin with, tightens around her shoulders and her skin transforms into a sickly shade of green.

"Wonderful, a fucking demon." He tosses the box on the nearest shelf and turns to give the woman his full attention. He may not be fond of demons, but he's smart enough to know that he can't fight one on his own. That's the job of Nephilim, Warlocks are just supposed to look pretty and make witty one-liners. "Let me guess, Malphas sent you."

"I don't work for your father, Mieczysław." If he was a 'wolf, he's pretty sure his hackles would be rising at this point. "In fact, I'm a free agent with a grudge. Malphas killed my wife."

"And what better way to get petty revenge than by helping one of Malphas' children?"

"All of them, actually. Well, the ones that are still alive." She shrugs, completely at ease in her natural form. There's a faint stench of rotting things that wafts from her, like dying flowers in a nursing home. "You want your father back and I can give him to you." She reaches into the pocket of her jeans and hands over a card reading _Sheriff John Stilinski (213) 555- 0760_.

"His card?"

"I worked my mojo on it, he'll get his memories back the next time he touches it." Stiles tightens his hold on it, simple cardstock possibly containing everything he's ever wanted.

"Would something like this work on teenagers that used to be vampires?"

"Sorry, his memories were stolen by a different demon." She looks him over one last time before she removes the too-tight vest and tosses it aside. "Well, I'm off. There's a kid in Santa Clarita I've been meaning to visit. See ya later, Mieczysław." And then she's gone, a bit of green goop left on the floor where she'd been standing.

"Thanks…." He glances down at the nametag on the vest, running his thumb over it with a fond smile. "Never expected to get this kinda help from a demon named Ramona."

* * *

John glances up when Stiles barges into his office without so much as a knock, blue eyes widening when the kid slams a card down on the desk in front of him. "How much do you know about reincarnation?"

"It's nice to see you too, Stiles," John says instead. "I'm doing good. I had a bacon cheeseburger last night and—"

"Those are bad for someone with a heart condition." The Sheriff's mouth snaps shut, eyes narrowing with something like suspicion. It just confirms what Stiles' had already guessed, John's still a human despite the traces of Raziel's blood and that means his heart is still weaker than it should be.

"How do you know—"

"Pick up that card and I'll tell you all about it." John frowns, but he picks up the card all the same. Nothing happens at first, but then a zip of magic races through Stiles' fingers and the card glows the faintest bit red. John lurches back in his chair, nearly overturning it, sucking in deep breaths as his eyes dart about wildly. It's like he's seeing something, muscles spasming in his arms and making his fingers twitch.

It stops just as suddenly as it started, the card fluttering to the ground from limp fingers as John slouches down in his chair. His chin rests against his shirt, all the color drained from his face and eyes at half-mast. Magic takes a toll on Mundanes, so Stiles doesn't worry too much about the background anxiety making his fingers clutch at the hem of his tee.

John's breathing returns to its normal rhythm, then he's flinging himself up out of the chair with enough force that it slams back against the wall. His arms are around Stiles before he can so much as twitch, a bone-crushing embrace that the warlock returns wholeheartedly. It's exactly like Stiles remembers the hugs being; fierce protectiveness, whole-hearted love, and just _warmth_.

It makes something in his bones settle.

Makes him feel like he's home.

* * *

It's at a Fourth of July barbeque when Stiles meets John's son. Liam Dunbar is average height with a competitive streak a mile long and eyes that go glow-stick-yellow when he feels protective. He talks a big game (and talks a lot in general, some things are purely genetic), he likes lacrosse, and he can binge-watch the special extended trilogy of Lord of the Rings without going to the bathroom once.

Stiles isn't going to lie, he kind of admires the kid.

Peter, meanwhile, is complete enamored with Liam's boyfriend the second the Shadowhunter begins to coo at little Alex. He might have said something about adopting Mason, but Stiles is hoping he just heard that wrong because there's no more guest rooms left in their house.

"And that's Scott," Stiles says, pointing at his best bro. Scott is currently holding an insanely huge firework, chattering away to Kira and never noticing when one of Deucalion's twins lights the fuse until it's too late. Scott is left standing with the remnants of the firework in his hands, eyebrows singed right off his face. Ten feet away, Chris Argent falls off a picnic bench from laughing so hard.

"Wow," Liam says. "He's really unobservant for a Werewolf."

"Yeah, I'm kinda the brain to his brawn."

"So basically, we're going to be sneaking a row of Black Cats into that kid's shorts and then lighting them?"

"Oh yeah. Aiden's had it coming for a while now."

* * *

The barbecue ends with one trip to the hospital, two cursing twins, and Stiles and Liam's banishment from the park.

Totally worth it to see Aiden screech like a two year old, though.

 **Malphas is a mighty Great Prince of Hell, having forty legions of demons under his command and is second in command under Satan. Mały Lis is Polish for 'little fox' according to Google Translate. Let me know if it's wrong :)**


End file.
